Nor'easter
by can-can-can
Summary: Born out of the frustration that is Woody's character as of late. A little introspective OneShot story from Woody's point of view. WJ Rated for a few bad words.


A/N: So... I'm sure I'm not the only one who has been frustrated with Woody's actions lately. This story was born of that frustration. :)

And, I own nothing... but I'm seriously thinking the coup may again be called for, so Nyn, where ever you are... I'm in!

Enjoy ;)

* * *

I step out from the shelter of my apartment building's eaves and onto the dampened asphalt. The rain that had been falling all night is holding off for now, though the sky is dark and threatening; much like my mood as of late. I pull up the collar of my wicking jacket, trying to loosen the icy grip of the late Nor'easter's chilly wind. Knowing the sooner I get moving the sooner I'll be warm, I break into a slow run.

I'm setting out on my own this morning... again. My feet make small slapping sounds against the rain-soaked surface as they pound out a steady, wet rhythm. Like clockwork my thoughts drift to my missing companion. It's been weeks now since she joined me for our morning ritual. Before I knew, before any of us knew what was going on with her, she begged off on our run together claiming a bad case of runner's knee.

"_I just need a little time off of the pounding," she claimed. "I'll go biking or something after my shift."_

"_I can join you," I'd offered._

"_No. I don't want to ruin your schedule. You go ahead."_

"_Are you sure?" I sensed something was amiss- and with Jordan that's rarely a good sign._

"_Yeah. I'm good," she insisted throwing me a smile that I wonder why she even tries on me after all these years... doesn't she know I can see right through it by now?_

But I'd let it go. Just like I'd let it go all of the other times I'd asked if she were okay. I'd chosen to let go of all of the warning signs that something was wrong, _really_ wrong. I fell back into our time-honored pattern of not pushing when we really should. I tried to be there, be available if she decided she wanted to talk to me about it. But Jordan is Jordan and waiting for her to open up is like waiting for Switzer to smile – futile and generally fruitless. Like I'd told her years ago... it's hard when your life philosophy is "don't ask, don't tell."

So I sat back and waited.

And then my world came crashing down around me.

Jordan had a seizure. How could that be?

A growth in her brain? No, not possible.

She couldn't die from it, right? Not Jordan, she's too stubborn.

The thought of something like this happening to her. It shocked me. And what shocked me even more was when she told me she'd rather die from it than risk becoming someone's she's not.

Jordan was the very epitome of a fighter. She defied the odds on a daily basis. And yet she had decided to not even step in the ring this time.

I think that scared me more than anything else.

And so I fought for her. I proved, with her by my side, that miracles can happen.

I was relieved when she told me she had scheduled the surgery – but terrified along with her that the Jordan I knew and loved wouldn't make it off the table.

The morning of the surgery came around quickly. I know I should have gone to see her off; I should have been there to whisper the things in her ear that she whispered in mine when our roles were reversed. I know now I used the case that morning as an excuse. I couldn't bring myself to go to the morgue and have a little voice from the depths of my mind whispering _"This may be the last time you see her alive."_

Truth be told, I was scared shitless.

My legs and body have finally warmed up against the frigid air, though it hasn't spread to my stinging hands and ears. My feet are on auto-pilot while my mind wanders. The street signs on the corners pass by without my realization. I'm not worried about getting lost. I've chased too many perps -not to mention Jordan- through the city's streets and alleyways; by now I know this city like the back of my hand.

I had meant to be at the hospital that day. Honestly, I had. But somehow I couldn't bring myself to go. I couldn't pace the hallways like Dr. M. I've done that before. I've paced, I've prayed, and I've bargained with God, all to no avail. I've held my father's hand as the beeps of his heart monitor became the steady hum of a flat line. I've lost a mother that I barely remember. I've lost a mentor. I've lost two women I cared about.

I was powerless to save every one of these people, just as I was faced with the realization that I was powerless to save Jordan now as well. Pacing wouldn't help. Sitting in a waiting room wanting to rip my hair out as the hours ticked by wouldn't help. Praying may help, but if God didn't already realize how much Jordan means to me and what I'd have given to get her through this, then no amount of time spent on my knees would change that.

So I did the only thing I could do. I worked. I put my mind elsewhere. I focused my attention on someone that I believed I _could _help.

I knew Jordan would understand.

What I don't know if Jordan can understand, and what I'm struggling to understand myself, is the way I've been acting _since_ the surgery.

Basically, I've been an asshole. And a serious one at that. In fact, I should look into seeing if there's an Assholes Anonymous group I could join, because I obviously need help. I can just picture it now:

_I stand to introduce myself. "Hi, my name is Woody, and I'm an ass." _

_They'd all ring in with their "Hi, Woody" before the moderator asks, "So, Woody what have you done that brings you here to us today?"_

"_Well," I'd answer, "My friend, my best friend, she got sick. She had a tumor in her brain., but she tried to hide it from us. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't push her on it. Then when she started messing up on the job I got angry with her. I shouldn't have done that because I know how dedicated she is to her work." The group would all nod their heads in understanding. _

"_She just had surgery to remove the tumor, and I couldn't bring myself to be there to see her off or wait at the hospital during her surgery." A few of the members would now start to shake their heads sadly. _

"_But that's not all," I'd blaze on. "After the surgery she needed help. And instead of wanting to be there for this woman I care about so much, I didn't know what to do. I didn't talk to her, or hold her hand. I fell asleep when I was supposed to be there helping her. And to top it off got angry with another friend when he didn't show up to 'relieve me' of my post. I actually said to him, 'If you're gonna stick me with a double shift the least you could do is call.'" The mouths that would have began to fall open in shock as I talked now sound an audible gasp, and a few comments of "Jerk" would be heard muttered under people's breaths. _

_It's official. I am an ass. And not only that, but I'm apparently the reigning king of all assholes._

The question you're probably asking yourself, and that I'm trying to figure out as well, is why. Why am I being such a jerk?

If only I knew.

Maybe it's because I don't know what to do, or how to help her. I'm used to being in control of situations- that's part of my job. I step in to help others when they can't help themselves. I like being the hero and saving the day. I'm in my element in times of crisis... that is, when I can help.

But I can't help Jordan. I'm no doctor. I couldn't go in and remove the tumor from her brain. For god's sake, I couldn't even recognize the warning signs that she was sick! And even after the surgery, I had no idea what to do if she got sick while I was with her, what medications to give her, what to do if she seized again. I was utterly and completely useless. And that feeling terrifies me.

What also terrifies me is the thought of losing Jordan.

I seem to be a curse to everyone I get close to. My mother was the first victim of this. She died when I was so young I'm not sure if the remaining "memories" I have of her actually ever existed or if they're figments of my imagination put together by photographs and stories I'd heard about her. Dad took losing her really hard. He struggled to be a provider and take care of Cal and me, but he I know he blamed himself for not being able to help Mom. He grew cold and disconnected.

I laugh mirthlessly at myself. Perhaps I'm more like my father than I ever knew. I wanted to be a cop to follow in his footsteps, to make him proud... but it seems I've inherited a few more of his traits, and one's I'd rather have not picked up.

Losing Dad was horrible. But I tried to act like a grown up, even though inside I was just a scared teenager. Cal needed me to be strong, he needed someone to look after him and keep him out of trouble. I took that challenge upon myself and I found I enjoyed taking control. But ultimately I failed in that. Cal's irresponsibility and total disregard for anything that came out of my mouth led him on a path to self-destruction. I was powerless to stop him by that point. So I walked away. Not that I didn't and still don't care, because I love my brother... but I can't stand helplessly by and watch him throw his life away.

Then there is Devan and Lu. I cared about them both. They were remarkable women, beautiful and strong and stubborn and self-reliant. I seem to have an attraction to that type. And though my relationships with both of these women were very different, I did care about each of them, and then in the blink of an eye both of them were gone; Again, there was nothing I could do to save them.

I loved all of these people. And I've lost all of these people.

And if possible, I think that I care about Jordan more than anyone in my past or present. She has become the center of my world. Neither of us have any family left to speak of in our lives, and so we've become family to each other.

Maybe it's that I'm distancing myself from her. Maybe in my own freakish way I'm trying to save her by pushing her away. If my love is a curse, then perhaps if I keep my distance from her the fates will spare her. And if that's the price I have to pay to keep her alive, then so be it.

Or maybe I'm just trying to save myself from another heartbreak, and one I'm sure I would never recover from, if I lost her.

I feel a tiny slap against my cheek as sleet begins to fall from the sky. I resist tucking my head down and pick up my pace instead. I accept the stinging elements as punishment for my behavior and run as though my life depends on it.

I've come to a conclusion. It doesn't matter the reason for my recent behavior, there is no justification. I can't be foolish enough to think that anything I do will change the end result of her illness.

What _does_ matter is that Jordan is here now. One thing I've learned from my job and from my life is that we can be here one moment and gone the next. That is a simple fact of life. To go through living your life terrified of getting too close to someone for fear that you'll lose them is not really living at all. There are no guarantees in life. Sometimes you just have to close your eyes and jump and hope for the best possible outcome.

I need to trust my heart and where it will lead me.

My feet come to a halt, as my lungs can't carry me any farther at this pace. I bend over, hands on knees, and take deep breaths of the chilly air. Once I can breathe normally again I raise my head and look up at the street sign above me.

"Pearle Street," I laugh to myself. Figures.

It looks like my heart knew exactly where to lead me.

I cover the remaining distance to Jordan's building, climb the stairs and find myself staring at her big red door. I knock.

She opens the door a few seconds later. Her confused smile turns to shock at my appearance.

"Woody! You're soaking wet! Get in here." She ushers me in and goes to the sofa to retrieve a throw blanket. She opens it up and wraps it around my shoulders, her hands lingering there. "What on earth were you doing?" she demanded.

I shrug, "I just went for a run."

Her eyes grow wide. "In this weather?" she asks, dumbfounded. "Not to be cliché, but are you trying to catch your death?"

I simply shake my head, and a small smile forms at my lips. "No. I wasn't trying to catch my death. I was trying to catch my life."

Jordan's brow furrows. "What are you talking about?"

I smile and shake my head. "It doesn't matter Jo. I'm just..." I pause and I wrap my arms tightly around her, enveloping both of us in the blanket, "I'm sorry, Jo," I whisper in her ear.

She tucks her head into the crook of my neck, her voice is soft. "Sorry for what, exactly?"

"For everything. For not pushing you harder, for not being there when you needed me, for pushing you away, for being a royal jerk these past few weeks... You name it, I'm sorry for it."

She pulls her head away enough to look me in the eyes. "Woody, it's okay. You were scared." She laughs. "Hell, I was scared too." I feel her hand play with the wet hair at the nape of my neck. "No worries, okay?"

Something in her voice lets me know she _does_ truly understand. I mean, if anyone could understand where I'm coming from with this, it would be Jordan. I place a small, soft kiss on her lips. "Yeah, no worries." I breathe.

Her hand falls down and captures mine. She pulls me toward the couch and pushes me down upon it. "I'm making you some coffee to warm you up and then you can let me beat your sorry ass at a game of Monopoly. I swear that game was made for Nor'easters."

"Jordan," I move to stand, "You sit, I'll make the coffee." She pushes me back down.

"Woody, I'm _fine_. And please do me a favor and start treating me like it," she flashed me one of her classic Jordan smiles and started the coffee machine. "Coffee, and what, 6 sugars, coming up," she laughed.

A grin spreads across my face, "That's it Jordan, you're going down."

She grabs the game box and sinks down onto the couch next to me. She brings her face close to mine, her whiskey eyes holding my own and I can feel her breath on my lips as she taunts, "Bring it on, Farm Boy."

-End


End file.
